


A Little Night Music

by erisgregory



Series: Everything Carries Me to You [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Parentlock, Pre-Slash, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-28 01:04:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8424580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erisgregory/pseuds/erisgregory
Summary: Sherlock plays for Emma every night at her 4am feeding, but he also plays for John.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading. You don't have to have read the previous story in this series to enjoy this one, but it may help put things in perspective. Still pre-slash here, but I promise I won't keep us there for much longer.

The first time it happened was a relief. John was still overrun with sleep deprivation, bundles of emotions he wasn’t ready to sort through, and outright fear and concern for Emma. He had no idea what he was doing half the time, thank god for Youtube, and Emma let him know on a fairly regular basis how inept he was at pleasing her.

So the first time Sherlock helped with the 3:00 am feeding, John was relieved. Now, a couple of weeks into the routine and John is more than relieved, he’s really bloody grateful. It’s so relentless with a newborn. No one warned him about that. He knew, from dealing with young parents at the clinic, but living it is totally different. There was a reason all the new moms looked like zombies and the dads looked ready to run for the hills. Sometimes vice versa.

He felt like a cranky zombie dad caught in a hellish loop of diaper changes, bottle warming, feeding, burping, and changing diapers all over again. How could such a tiny thing make such a huge mess? All of that was bad enough, okay? But doing it when woken in the middle of the night was a special kind of torture.

Sherlock made it bearable at the very least. John would change the baby when she woke, come out of his room, now on the main floor thanks to Sherlock switching with him, and he’d find Sherlock with the bottle going in the warmer. The warmer Sherlock bought himself because it was dangerous to put the bottle in the microwave and archaic to use the stove thank you very much.

So John would settle into his chair with the newly dry Emma and Sherlock would deliver the perfectly warmed bottle to them before pulling out his violin. John had originally thought the music was for Emma, but now he was certain it was as much for him as for her. It was so soothing. He could almost drop right back off with her, but he managed not to. It made him feel human again, somehow, and that meant the world to him.

Sherlock didn’t keep playing tonight, however. He put the violin back in it’s case, carefully as always, and turned to John, lips pursed. Sherlock stared, blinking down at John for a solid minute before John gave in to his curiosity.

“What?” John tapped his fingers absently to his mouth, waiting.

“Burping, John.” Sherlock didn’t follow that up with anything more helpful.

“Mmm, yes. I know I need to burp her.” He shook his head, hoping to gain some clarity.

Sherlock was as still as a statue. “No.”

“No? Sherlock, what are you saying here? Help me out.”

“She has colic.” He added helpfully.

“She has in fact.”

“I’ve been doing research--”

“Of course you have.” John wanted to roll his eyes but he was too fond of the berk and too interested in what he was trying to say.

“Yes, of course, and I’ve found a way to burp her that might help.”  This was all said very quickly as though John might interrupt again. And he might have, so that was fine.

“So you want to show me how to do it.” It wasn’t a question at this point.

“No, I’d… I’d like to do it. If I am successful, you can try it at her next feeding.”

“Oh. Yeah. Alright. Let me just…” John carefully passed Emma to Sherlock who took her and held her close like the precious baby she was. It warmed John inside and out to see how Sherlock continued to treat her.

He settled into his own chair across from John and then maneuvered the baby into what looked like a ridiculous sitting position. He was about to take back all the soft thoughts he’d just been having when Sherlock sighed, exasperated with him.

"I can see you panicking. Don’t panic. I’m supporting her head and body with my hands so she’s in no danger.” Sherlock added an eyeroll for good measure.

“Fine, go on then, I’m watching.” John waved his hand at Sherlock with an equally exasperated grin.

Emma was perched on Sherlock’s knee facing John. Sherlock had one hand supporting her head in front, though it looked a little bit like he was choking her. She didn’t make a fuss so she must have been fine, this was Sherlock after all. Of course he knew what he was doing. With his other hand he began to slowly massage her back, then her front, alternating until she burped. It was huge sound, and John laughed before he could stop himself.

“I can tell she has more,” Sherlock informed him, though he was grinning too, at his success.

“How can you tell?” John asked, leaning forward in his curiosity.

“If you bounce her gently you can hear the fluid and air sloshing around. That means she has more air trapped in her stomach. The more I can released for her, the less likely she’ll be to suffer with her colic later.”

“That’s fantastic! I’ve never heard such a thing.” John shook his head in wonder.

“Well, it’s not foolproof, but I have a few other tricks up my sleeve if this isn’t enough.”

John laughed softly and leaned back in his chair once more. “I’m just sure you do.”

Sherlock smiled a little on the smug side, which was okay. He’d earned the right to feel proud, and John relaxed trusting his daughter was in perfectly capable hands. The baby burped again and again until her tummy was emptied of air and then she proceeded to drowse before Sherlock even had a chance to move her. He was so good with her, in everything he did. Even in something as simple as laying her back into John’s arms before moving to take out the violin once more.

The music filled the space between them and John let his eyes fall closed to better listen. Emma was fast asleep, but she wasn’t quite settled yet. He needed to wait to lay her down, another trick Sherlock taught him. Once the baby sighs you can lay her down. John would have been so beyond lost without Sherlock’s help.

It was familiar. John recently discovered he was starting to recognize a few of the songs. It was a balm to his soul, these moments. The night was quiet around them and in this little bubble, lounging back in his chair, the fire slowly dying to embers beside him, and Emma tucked against him, John felt at ease.

Most of his days were still packed with fear and worry. How was he going to move past everything that had happened? What would he tell Emma one day? Would Sherlock ever tire of them?

The last he was sure he knew. Sherlock tried to show him in a million little ways that he wanted John and Emma to stay. He was cleaning, which was a miracle in and of itself, and he was being more careful too. He was still Sherlock, he still took risks, but they were more calculated now, and that was the biggest clue of all.

John opened his eyes and watched as Sherlock played. His back was to them, but John could just make out his face in the reflection of the mirror. He looked as at ease as John felt just now.

In spite of everything, and against all the odds, John felt the stirrings of happiness in his chest. Oh it didn’t quite crowd out the negative sludge festering in his mind, but for the tiniest window of time, it eclipsed it all and John smiled. Emma sighed in his arms, her little body going fully limp in sleep, and John sat smiling at Sherlock’s back listening to the music as it crept into all the dark places inside him.

Somehow things would be okay because he had Sherlock on his side. Somehow things would get better. Maybe not right now or tomorrow, but someday soon. John could feel it, the hope stirring in his chest. It wasn’t the first time in the past few weeks, but it was stronger this time. More real. More tangible. John let that hope light him up from the inside out until it was all he could feel.

Then he stood and walked back to his room, careful not to jar the baby with his steps, and lay her in the crib. Sherlock didn’t stop playing even though he usually did at this point. He kept playing even as John climbed back in bed, settled in, and began to drift. The soft strains of melody the last thing John remembered before falling asleep.

For the first time in two weeks, John slept deep and dreamless, and woke with what felt like a new lease on life.


End file.
